


Pretty Boy

by ahausonfire (thisiswherethefishlives)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Because getting these two boys to have an adult conversation is like pulling teeth, But only with Nursey, Dex is a Flirty Drunk, Drinking at Kegsters as Social Lubricant, M/M, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Tumblr Prompt, slight angst with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10001570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswherethefishlives/pseuds/ahausonfire
Summary: They’re two hours into the inaugural kegster of their junior year when it happens for the first time. Music throbbing and bodies pressed tight all around, but the only touch that Derek really registers is from Dex. It’s a loose, grounding heat, the way that Dex’s body leans against his - a little bit comforting and a little bit unnerving, andgod, there are times that Derek misses the before, when being around Dex didn’t make him a little crazy.But then there are times like these, when Dex is the only one that he sees, and it’s easy to remember all the reasons why it’s worth the indignity of crushing on your roommate/best friend/teammate/partner.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Inspired by the following Tumblr prompt:**
> 
> Anonymous asked: Prompt: possessive nurseydex w/ nursey being the possessive one mostly bc I always see dex being possessive bc of insecurity. Nursey can't get over how hot/awesome/etc dex is & how other people see him but dex is totes oblivious
> 
> **Also, special thanks to chillwhiskey for their stellar[demon!Dex fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9896573), which has me feeling all kindsa ways about Dex calling Nursey "pretty boy" (much like Derek Nurse, I too am weak).**

They’re two hours into the inaugural kegster of their junior year when it happens for the first time. Music throbbing and bodies pressed tight all around, but the only touch that Derek really registers is from Dex. It’s a loose, grounding heat, the way that Dex’s body leans against his - a little bit comforting and a little bit unnerving, and _god_ , there are times that Derek misses the before, when being around Dex didn’t make him a little crazy.

But then there are times like these, when Dex is the only one that he sees, and it’s easy to remember all the reasons why it’s worth the indignity of crushing on your roommate/best friend/teammate/partner.

Because Dex is amazing. He’s also a little bit drunk, if the way that he’s throwing his arms around Derek’s neck is any indication - all loose limbs with a silly little smile on his lips.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” he whispers, fingers tugging at the curls at the back of Derek’s neck, as if to pull him closer. “Dance with me.”

And, like… here’s the thing. Derek is a lot of things - he’s ridiculous and mercurial and sensitive to a fault, he _knows_ this - but the one constant is that he’s weak when it comes to William Poindexter. So, when his partner asks him to dance, Derek dances.

And if he spends the next week thinking about the way he felt when Dex called him “pretty boy”?

Yeah. He’s weak.

* * *

The thing is, Dex calling him “pretty boy”? It’s not a one-time thing. And it kind of throws a wrench into every single one of Derek’s preconceived notions about life, the universe, and everything.

Yeah, it kind of actually ruins him a little bit, the way that Dex gets soft after a few drinks - soft enough to call him “pretty boy” without it sounding like an insult or a chirp or something worth raising his hackles over.

Dex calls him “pretty boy” when he’s drunk, and it sounds a little like praise, and a little like affection, and a lot like something _more_.

Dex calls him “pretty boy” at parties, and Derek falls in love.

* * *

(Well, he falls deeper than he already was. But that’s another story. An idea easier acknowledged after a couple of drinks and a long, slow walk around the pond.

It’s the kind of thing that only flourishes under Dex’s attention after a couple of drinks, and it’s the kind of thing that wilts away each time because it _only_ happens when Dex drinks.

And that. That’s not something easy to unpack. So, yeah.

It’s another story.)

* * *

(Except for the fact that it’s not.)

* * *

It’s not the first time since the semester started that Dex has ended up in Derek’s lap, squirmy and warm and just shy of wasted, and Derek _loves_ him. And it’s kind of the worst, because Derek is too sober for the way that Dex is soft in his arms. He’s entirely too sober for the way that Dex’s shirt rides up in the back when his arms reach up to loop around Derek’s neck - and god _damn_ , if Dex isn’t allways pulling him closer.

It’s an entirely different sensation from the rest of their dynamic. If anything, Derek’s the one that’s used to reeling Dex in - with a chirp or a barb, or a slice of pie and a smile - so it’s easy to reason away all of the saner parts of Derek’s head that remind him that this can’t end well. That it won’t. That nothing about this situation is healthy.

Because Derek is sober, and he’s holding Dex like there’s something worth holding on to, and Dex is drunk… and Dex thinks that he’s pretty.

Ships have been launched for less.

* * *

There’s a rhythm to these moments. A set pattern they fall into time after time after time now that Nursey Patrol has been disbanded.

(And damn, if that wasn’t an awkward conversation to have - to sit down with his friends, his teammates (his brothers) to tell them that he was done - to open himself up to their judgment (and fuck, if he wasn’t afraid of their judgment - _fuck_ if he didn’t brace himself for words like ‘alcoholic’ and ‘problem’ and ‘weak’) - how small he had felt when they had banded around him (and _oh_ , how he had wept from relief and misery and an overwhelming feeling of _home_ ) - and yeah… sometimes Derek wondered if it was possible to feel too much.)

It starts with the kegster prep.

They hide the breakables in the basement, and they sweep and swiffer (which, really, it seems like a giant waste of time since it’s going to be covered in tub juice in a few hours anyways, but whatever - Bitty put his foot down, and it’s chill), and they methodically cordon off the parts of the Haus that need to stay closed.

In the kitchen, Whiskey supervises the newest crop of tadpoles as they put the finishing touches on a ridiculous amount of tub juice while Bitty hovers by the oven (it’s just not a Haus party these days without mini-pies).

And, like, the rest of it is just waiting.

Dry-runs of beer pong, and pre-gaming with cheap vodka, and the kind of camaraderie that only comes after hard-fought games and brutal defeats.

After that?

Well, after that it’s just the regular descent into madness. People everywhere, _drinks_ everywhere, and music loud enough to vibrate through your bones (always just shy of loud enough to get the cops called). And that’s when Dex starts to transform into something softer and less rigid - when he taps into something sweet and soft and _drunk_ enough to look Derek in the eyes and call him “pretty boy”.

From there, it’s just a slow-motion impact - the only kind of crash that Derek’s ever wanted to run into. And it hurts. Because it’s only here in the moment that Dex will wrap his arms around Derek’s neck, and it’s only here in the crash zone that Dex will pull them close, close, close.

It’s something of a routine, how they end up at the end of the night, huddled together for warmth as Dex whispers “pretty boy” into Derek’s skin.

* * *

It’s possible that Derek isn’t drunk enough for this shit.

And the fact that it’s by choice?

_Fuck_.

* * *

Dex with a little alcohol flowing through his veins? He’s a menace.

He’s louder and looser, and he takes up more space (though he’s never more vibrant than he is sober - never more beautiful than when he’s an active participant in Derek’s life - all sharp edges and engagement). Add that to the fact that he’s hot? It’s a fucking problem.

Because suddenly, Derek’s not the only one that’s watching. Because the thing is, even though Dex isn’t any more gorgeous than he normally is, when he’s drinking he’s easier to spot. And the realization that Dex has people watching out of hunger, or appreciation, or something _more_ … well, it starts a shift in Derek’s perception, because he’s never been one to be possessive. He’s never been the jealous type, but it only takes Dex getting swept away in the crowd _once_ for all that to come crashing down along with Derek’s chill.

Because suddenly there are _hands_ on Dex’s hips, and people leaning far too close, and Derek’s body throbs with resentment - because these are _his_ moments. It’s their unspoken rule. A promise they’ve never had to spell out.

The thing is, though, Derek doesn’t get the luxury of pouting for long, because Dex catches his eyes from across the room (hands reaching out as if to pull Derek closer - he’s always pulling him closer) and Derek just doesn’t have the strength to deny him (he’s so fucking weak).

Drawn closer by nothing more than the pleading look in Dex’s eyes and the press of the crowd, Derek lets himself fall into Dex’s orbit - closer and closer and closer - until Dex is the only thing he sees.

“Took ya long enough, pretty boy,” Dex says, pressing his lips and his words and his breath into the crook of Derek’s neck. And Derek…

He agrees.

* * *

Being sober at a kegster while the rest of the world gets sloppy and hot?

Eighty-four percent of the time it fucking sucks, because everything gets loud and sweaty and _too much_. It’s that sticky space between too fast and too slow, and yeah, most of the time it sucks. Because there’s nothing flattering about Jakob from ENGL 346 (Transparency and Opacity in Literature) swaying too close into his space (breath reeking of vodka and hormones and desperation) or the way that Jakob takes the liberty of putting his hands on Derek’s hips (like he belongs there - like he has the right) or the way that he spits when he talks (too loud, too fucking moist, too much). And, like, there’s a frantic little voice at the back of Derek’s head that wonders if this was the kind of thing Nursey Patrol guarded against in years past (if Derek would have been swept away by this - if he would have been susceptible).

Jakob leans in closer, and it’s only then that Derek remembers why the other sixteen percent is worth it - because _Dex_ is there, and he’s pushing Jakob away, and it’s kind of amazing? How he just shows up when Derek needs him most? And it’s kind of ridiculous? How Dex is using one of his arms to keep Jakob away while simultaneously wrapping his other arm around Derek’s shoulders to pull him close?

“Back the fuck off, dude,” Dex barks, a little too loud from the drinks and the music and the moment, “he’s obviously busy and he’s _obviously_ not interested.”

Jakob retreats at that, and really, Derek can’t blame him. Frankly, Derek doesn’t want to think about him at all, not with the way that Dex pulls him closer into his side.

They spend the rest of the night huddled together, and Dex doesn’t call him “pretty boy” once.

(And maybe it should feel like a loss, but he never takes his arm back from where it’s wrapped around Derek’s shoulders, and he never once lets Derek out of his sight.)

* * *

Derek doesn’t sleep that night.

He can’t sleep.

Because for all that Dex didn’t claim him in the moment, he kind of did.

And Derek…

He doesn’t know what to do with that.

* * *

There are rituals to throwing a kegster.

It starts with the preparation, and after that it’s a descent into depravity and excess and madness.

After that, though?

After that it’s waking up in the morning (with the sun rising - bright and painful and always too early - through the blinds) - and it’s shoving their feet into their shoes (rushing out of the Haus before Bitty can catch them - running before he can remind them to tie their laces - because, _really_ , it’s always too early for that) - and it’s the long walk over to Annie’s (Dex’s hand brushing against his as they walk - the softness of the night before lost to sobriety even as the need to be close lingers).

It’s Derek ordering a medium coffee for himself (black, no sugar - a taste acquired long ago out of a misguided need to be ‘mature’ enough for his parents to stick around - he still can’t shake it) and a large americano for Dex (light and sweet enough to revive him from even the worst hangover).

It’s Dex holding a table for them, and the way that their knees knock together when Derek sits down.

And it ends when they pointedly don’t talk about the night before.

* * *

“So...”

It’s more than Derek means to say, really, which is ridiculous because it’s just a word. It’s just a syllable, but it holds enough power to draw Dex’s gaze up from his drink.

It’s just… Derek doesn’t know what comes next.

“You got a thought with that Nurse, or is your brain still rebooting from last night?”

“How drunk were you last night?”

Dex shrugs at the question, like it’s no big deal, taking another sip of his coffee before setting the cup down. “I only had a couple beers. Didn’t feel like getting schwasted.”

He seems so fucking nonchalant, and it makes Derek want to grind his teeth.

(It makes him wonder just how drunk Dex needs to be before he feels the need to call him “pretty boy”.)

“Okay. _So_. What was the deal with Jakob?”

“Who, the douchebag that was all over you? You obviously weren’t into it - I saved us all some time.” Dex lifts his cup to take a drink, but it doesn’t make it to his lips before he’s setting it back down. “What, did I read that wrong? Because I know I wasn’t that drunk last night, and you looked _really_ uncomfortable.”

He looks so concerned, and part of Derek wants to tell him everything’s chill. Part of Derek wants to smooth out the wrinkle in Dex’s brow and bring him back to the attic (the part that wants to press aspirin into Dex’s hand before pushing him into bed on the mornings after when Dex’s head is pounding and his stomach is rebelling - the part that wants to wrap his body around Dex until neither of them remember what hurting feels like).

Of course, it’s the stupid part of Derek that keeps pushing instead.

“I can handle myself without you swooping in like you’ve got a claim.”

It comes out steady, and it seems like the right thing to say, but then Dex is snorting, which-

“Didn’t fuckin’ seem like it. He was all over you, and you were just letting it happen.”

“And- what, Dex? You thought you needed to save me? Couldn’t stand the idea of someone else taking up my time?” Logically, Derek knows that he’s warping this conversation beyond anything salvageable - and logically he knows that he’s fucking up the friendship that he fought so hard for - but his mouth keeps going a mile a minute. “You act like you’ve got a stake in something, but calling me pretty boy a few times when you’re drunk doesn’t grant you the right to make decisions over who I choose to hang out with.”

* * *

So. It turns out that hindsight is a fucked up thing, and Derek can’t get past it.

He can’t get past the way he completely humiliated himself at Annie’s (letting the conversation warp from something questionable at best into something all too open and hurtful and obvious) - and he can’t get past the knowledge that walking away was probably the wrong choice (just fucking leaving before Dex could say anything - throwing out his untouched coffee on the way out - wasteful) - and he can’t get past the realization that he’ll probably need to see about alternative living situations for the rest of the semester (because some conversations can’t be explained away, and some confrontations just aren’t worth it).

And it sucks. Because he likes Dex, and he loves living at the Haus, and logically, Derek knows that he can’t hide in the library forever (no matter how much he fucking wants to).

* * *

Hindsight is the fucking worst, because you only appreciate it after you’ve fucked up. And Derek? He fucked up.

Dex drops heavily into the seat across from Derek, hands splayed out on the table like he’s bracing for impact, and Derek can’t get past it.

Because if he was going to hide, he probably shouldn’t have retreated to his usual spot (and really, fuck _everything_ ).

“I-” Dex clears his throat before starting again, and from the way his entire face is flushed, his discomfort is more than evident. “I didn’t realize that you didn’t like it when I called you pretty boy. I would never-”

“Yeah, see, that’s the problem.” Derek wants to sound sharp, but the words just come out tired when he cuts Dex off. “I liked it. More than I should have. Because words don’t mean anything if they can only be said when you’re drunk.”

From where he’s sitting (across the table, hunched over - as if that would leave him less exposed), Dex sighs, his eyes trained on the table between them. He licks his lips before answering, and part of Derek wants to fling his body out the window (because he can’t stop himself from watching how Dex’s lips move).

“Yeah.”

And, like. That would be enough for Derek. It’s fucking depressing, but he’d be fine if that’s where Dex left it, because getting Dex to acknowledge Derek’s feelings… it’s a far cry from where they were freshman year.

The thing is, _Dex_ is a far cry from where he was freshman year. And maybe Derek should give him a little more credit, because Dex straightens his shoulders, and he raises his eyes to meet Derek’s (and he licks his lips), and he keeps talking.

“I do think you’re pretty, y’know. You’re _gorgeous_. It’s not- it’s not just something to say, and it’s not just the alcohol talking. I kinda think you’re the only thing worth looking at all the time.”

“Oh.” Out of all the words that Derek can think to say, the only thing that comes out is ‘oh’, but for once in their lives, Dex doesn’t chirp him for it.

“Yeah. It’s just… _easier_ , sometimes. When I’m drinking. Because I know that you’re gonna take care of me, and I know that I don’t have to stay on my guard. And you’re always so damn pretty when you look at me like you care.”

“I always care, Poindexter.”

Dex snorts at that, but there’s a fondness in his eyes that makes it difficult for Derek to take offense.

“Yeah. I know, pretty boy.”

It doesn’t sound any different when Dex is sober. The words still sound as sweet (just as fond and as soft as the times they’ve said before), and they make Derek want to be reckless.

They make him want to be bold.

* * *

They’re completely sober the first time Derek takes Dex’s hands in his - hidden in the library like a secret worth keeping.

* * *

Dating Dex… there’s no real ritual or pattern or reason to the madness behind it, but it works. Everything about it works, and it’s just as natural as their energy on the ice (as comfortable as their bickering has come to be).

From the first kiss (when Derek pushed Dex up against the stacks, fingers still entwined) - to their first kegster as a couple (quickly escaping to the attic with half a pie and a bottle of wine) - to the way they work so well together (friends and teammates and lovers and more)... it feels like the most natural of progressions for Dex to start calling him “pretty boy” all the time, just like it feels right for Derek to kiss him for his efforts.

* * *

Because Dex calling him “pretty boy”?

It’s always made Derek weak.


End file.
